Silver Suits: A Mafia Story Menace in Grey
by BludMonkey
Summary: As history of the Mafia is written in blood, law enforcement has intensified their pursuit with newer and more dangerous technology then ever before. This technology, terminators dressed as mafia members, aim to destroy them once and for all.


In the 19th century, a man named Giuseppe Esposito was the first known Mafia member to immigrate to the United States. With the help of six others, he succeeded in killing several rich land-owners and fleeing to New York. He was later arrested in New Orleans after fleeing from further business in the Big Apple, but this was not the end of the Mafia movement.

* * *

Shortly after Giuseppe was arrested, the attention of both national and international media was grabbed by a similar criminal act. Police Superintendent David Hennessy was murdered at gunpoint, pissing off the public. Many Sicilians, which was the general origin of the group, were arrested and a couple dozen were accused of murder. New Orleans then created a lynch mob and proceeded to kill nearly half of the defendants by hanging and gunpoint. However, eight of those defendants escaped, leaving the largest lynching in American history a major landmark in the Mafia uprising.

Many other Mafia-related incidents took place afterwards, including Chicago's most notorious figure Al Capone and his rise to power during the period known as the Prohibition era, the time where Mafia activity was restricted until anger broke out in rebellion. In the 1920's, a war broke out between two factions both led by large people in the criminal field. After the murder of one of the leaders, the victor, Salvatore Maranzano, separated New York City into five families and took the position as first major leader of the Mafia. After establishing the code of conduct for the organization, the Mafia became more organized and respectful towards disputes, making crime more peaceful to carry out without conflict.

With history out of the question, time passed into the 22nd century, where criminal acts were strongly enforced by an inflation of criminal justice and police scouting the streets. Eventually, crime in the cities resorted to industrial reinforcement, where major Mafia members build secret factories to assemble weapons and other useful equipment to promote success. With each side of the law increasing in size and strength, leaders began to evolve the production process into something more personal. The law began engineering a whole new type of weapon that mocked the Mafia as far as appearance: robots. These new weapons were known by the Mafia as "Silver Suits", and they did everything they could to avoid any encounters with these intelligent figures, for they exceeded in strength, speed, and knowledge compared to even their leaders. This period in time was known as the Silver Mafia era.

* * *

_Your days of buying off our turf are over, Oswald Dawson IV, you bastard!_

There lays yet another pompous landlord of the metropolis, exhaling his last breath after a knife to the chest. It was silent; nothing but the sound of blood dripping from the edge of the bed and the calm but wavering breaths of the two men in gray suits standing adjacent to it. A smirk took over one of the men's faces as he gripped the knife that returned the expression with the landlord's crimson fluids decorating its shiny blade.

"Yet another 'high-and-mighty' cooze of a man who thinks he can best out our business. How many is that now, Fezzik?"

Fezzik, the elder of the pair, responded with the same smirk he had earlier,

"…five…seven…eleven. Eleven, Santro. Eleven bastards tried to buy off every last square yard of our territory and they all ended up failing through death. What a bunch of pussies!"

Fezzik and Santro exchanged a high-five and each shared a laugh, stopping at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

"Wait 'til they see the bloody body of the man who-"

"Shut up and let's get the hell outta here!"

There was a ladder just outside the window, the one they used to get in. The time of night that they climbed over the fence was the time that security slacked off at their posts because they were getting paid to do it. Santro went down the ladder first, jumping from the fifth step from the ground and rolling when he hit the ground, laughing in delight.

"For f*ck sake, Santro! They'll hear us!" Fezzik scolded in the loudest whisper he could squeeze out, enough for Santro at the bottom to hear.

Santro rolled his eyes as he headed toward the fence with the rope he had tied around his waist. Fezzik followed, leaving the ladder there for the convenience of not carrying it with them. After Santro lassoed the top of the fence, Fezzik cocked his head back in surprise when he heard the sound of a lady screaming from the bedroom.

"Sh*t! Hurry the hell up, Santro! They saw him!"

Santro was as siked as Fezzik was when he heard it, running over the property's boundaries of the landlord's manor with what felt like pure adrenaline taking over. Fezzik followed with equal but more dedicated fear, yet because he was the elder, he forced himself to keep cool like Santro is naturally.

"Get back to headquarters. Another mission accomplished, ya ol' rascal."

* * *

The Mafia headquarters took place in a secret room founded by the leader, Korokan ZaFiild, whom discovered an empty compartment under the 59th Street Bridge just over Roosevelt Island. The area served as a satisfactory vantage point from the cops for many years, and has been the base point after every mission carried out by its members. Korokan sat at the splitting point of the large, rectangular table sitting in the center of the room with his feet up on the table and a Cuban cigar resting in between his lips.

"So many landlords. So little time. There are more out there, but we are getting close to being rid of every one of those ass-f*cking scumbags and keeping our turf labeled. Santro. Fezzik. A job well done."

Santro and Fezzik sat near the end of the table, scuffling in their chairs as the words of the leader ringed through their honored ears.

"Ha ha! Thanks, boss! It was nothing-"

"Shut up, you fools!"

The two snapped up immediately, eyes as wide as breakfast bowls.

"As impressed as I am with the task that's been given to you, there are still plenty out there that are still a major thread to this organization. Who knows what will happen to us even as we speak? The media might be set around this God-forsaken island!"

The others murmured comments in quiet panic before silenced once again by the don.

"Quiet, I say! Let's not lose our cool. We still have business with the Black Market Gang just across the other side of this bridge. If we can get a word with them about these so called 'weapons', we might have a chance."

Fezzik leaned forward in curiosity, "I'm sorry, boss. 'Weapons'?"

"Yes, Fezzik. Weapons. Apparently the law has evolved and started deploying these 'weapons' all across the metro area. Hell, one could be set outside these very walls. So we need to scout them out so we can get more info on them from the BMG. Harold. Whisner. I'll leave this task to you."

Harold stood up, "Yes, boss." But Whisner, the elder of the pair, spoke up, "but boss…what exactly _are _these 'weapons'?"

Korokan was silent, tapping the ash from the end of his cigar before puffing a ring in front of him. "Keep this in mind, Whisner. They will look exactly like one of us, except they're suits will be silver. Shiny silver. Keep an eye out for a glare on their suits, and you will know what they are."

"Will do, boss." Whisner stood up with Harold, heading for the door. "C'mon, Harold. Let's do this sh*t."

* * *

Harold skipped with him, "Aww yeah! We're bad!" Whisner drooped his head in embarrassment; _Why did the don have to pair me up with this cooze?_

Harold's skip out the door dimmed as they made their way around the bridge and onto a nearby street. But Whisner could still detect childish movement by the guy.

"Harold, for f*ck sake! Man the hell up! If I'm going to be your partner, you're gonna act like a man, capiche?"

Harold only shunned the man for being a crabby old man, "Man up? Whissy, whissy. What fun is being a person without a child still lingering inside-"

The old man broke out the Tommy gun he had under his suit and aimed it at the child's head. "Call me 'Whissy' one more time! I told you never to call me 'Whissy'!"

Harold then bit his tongue and the pair made it across the bridge. Behind some buildings they saw a group of men in black clothing loitering along the walls.

"Gents! What's goin' on, brothers-?" One of the men in black shushed Whisner, fearfully looking along the street where a glare shown from a figure walking along it. "Change of plans, boys! Flee around the corner!" The men in black scurried to where they were told, leaving Whisner and Harold standing motionless where they were.

"…the f*ck? I thought they we-" The man took a glance at the figure, nearly blinded by the glare. "Wait a minute-"

"…_They will look exactly like one of us, except they're suits will be silver. Shiny silver. Keep an eye out for a glare on their suits, and you will know what they are."_

"What is it, Whiss?" Harold was still anxious with childlike behavior.

"Sh*t! Harold! Get the hell outta here-!"

But it was too late. The figure in silver bolted towards the pair, making a metallic clang for each running step it took.

_F*ck._

* * *

Korokan was now standing, still puffing clouds into the air from his half-burnt cigar. Fezzik followed, leaving Santro and the others to talk amongst themselves and curse at each other during card games. There was beer, too, but the door closed behind Fezzik before Korokan turned to him and started to speak.

"You and Santro getting along, chap?"

Fezzik looked to the side, clueless on what to say, "Well, he is high spirited, that's for sure."

"Indeed, he is. However, his lack of maturity is driving this gang along a very thin edge. One slip-up and this place is as good as discovered."

"Y-yes, boss. Of course."

"The Mafia will be doomed. Al Capone's name would be in vain. The world will eventually grow blind from justice and soon Havoc will break out like a God-damn virus and it will ruin this country!"

Fezzik was speechless. All he did was nod at key points.

"Nod all you like, Fezzik. That does not bring us closer to getting our message across for the world to see. Agreeing with me is only telling me that I am always right. That is not true. All I know about the world is that they are too stupid to realize how b*tchy the rich have become just because they can't have their way. Pretty soon they will have an uprising against the middle and lower class, and that only spells trouble, especially for us. Now we have to get our asses into shape. But first…"

The don gave Fezzik his trusty golden Desert Eagle.

"…I need a favor from you, Fezzik."

The golden weapon weighed down the man's hands, making them shake slightly, "B-but sir, this is your trusty weapon."

"You c*nt. You saying you can't handle a gun?"

"No boss! I would never-"

"Well then quit whining like a b*tch and follow me!"

Korokan proceeded into another space that was darker and wetter than the last. Drops of water could be heard echoing along the rumbling walls that supported the heavy traffic above, along with another noise that star-struck Fezzik.

Korokan lit the hanging bulb that dangled inches from his nose to reveal a man curled up against the back corner of the room. He was shaking from both the cold and hopeless fear that corrupted him, with only a soiled rag giving him cover for his private areas.

The boastful don smiled, "You see this, sonny?" he gestured toward the helpless, blindfolded man, "This is what I have to do to keep things straight in this business. This is what I have to do to make sure nothing gets leaked out and revealed to all of New York City!"

"S-sir?" Fezzik was shaking from head to toe now.

"What's the matter, boy? This too much for your puny balls to handle?"

"N-no sir. I'm just-"

"Just what? Not comfortable with this business? You letting that Santro boy f*ck up on purpose to ruin this place?"

"Of course not, boss! I'm dedicated to this business and I want justice!"

"Well then show me you have what it takes! You see, it's because of that Santro punk that this bastard gained information on our position. Santro spoke like a cliché criminal from a comic book, saying that 'nothing can stop me or the company' or 'nobody will ever find our secret hiding place' and other sh*t like that. That can't happen! I forbid it!"

"Understood, don. Now, why did you give me this gun?"

"I want you to be rid of this scum for me."

"M-m-me? Why me?"

"Because it is your responsibility. You were partnered with Santro, and you are the elder. Therefore, you are to fix this problem immediately. Now obliterate this piece of sh*t, or I will just have to do it myself along with Santro."

The man with the gun gasped in shock. _Sh*t. I guess I have no choice._ Slowly and partly steadily, he aimed the gun at the bound man's panicking, jolting head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

_Sh*t sh*t sh*t!_

Whisner shuffled left to right finding a place to run to. Harold, confused and dumb-struck, stood there staring at the curiously shiny figure charging at the pair.

"…the f*ck is that guy? Some kind of-"

"Harold! Sonuvab*tch! Get the f*ck ou-"

Whisner was soon grabbed by a handful of metallic fingers that crushed the tissue in his shoulder-blades as he was raised higher into the air. The eyes of the silver figure stared palely and blankly at him as if it wasn't even alive; as if it wasn't staring at all. Whisner continued to curse at Harold,

"Harold! Are you deaf? Get help!"

"From who, Whissy?" Harold snickered, but instantly snapped out of it after seeing Whisner's expression.

"You cooze! When I get out of this mess, I'll-"

He stopped speaking when the figure's eyes opened, revealing a red, glowing orb-like material that shined in his eyes like the sun, only they were thin, red lines going up and down his face as if it was… scanning him.

…_the f*ck?_ Whisner was clueless and paralyzed with fear. After several seconds of silent awkwardness, the figure began to speak:

Identified. Mafia member. Code red. Must exterminate.

Both men were speechless and horrified. Exterminate? "…so this is what the law had in store for us." Whisner's fear was added with curiosity, which was later determined irrelevant when he saw two tube-like metallic barrels extending from each side of its head.

…Exterminate…

_F*ck. F*cking f*ck! Harold, you childish c*nt – DO SOMETHING!_

The grasp was soon dispatched after a gunshot was heard nearby, blowing the figure to the side with a dent in its head. Whisner stumbled to the ground, still crystallized with fear as one of the men in black lifted him up on his shoulder, "You guys alright? Harold, do as this man says and find a place to hide!" Harold did as the guy told him, fleeing around the corner of an adjacent building before the figure got back up, locking on to the man shouldering Whisner.

…Exterminate!

"You'll have to exterminate us, too, you piece of metallic sh*t!" The BMG all stood armed with their guns aimed at the Silver Suit, ready to obliterate.

_Bring it._


End file.
